Passing Through
by Alan Hickerson
Summary: While passing through Albuquerque, James Bond is delayed.


Passing Through

…….

He stepped lightly upon the roof. He was as quiet as could be, although, with the giant motor humming in the background, it wasn't especially necessary. The Tramcar beneath him began to rise. The two Sandia Peak technicians in the car below him had entered at the same time that he'd stepped on the roof. With luck no one would ever know he'd been there.

He wore light brown khaki pants, a light brown jacket (know in America as a windbreaker.) over his cotton shirt. He'd thought against a tie, but then relented, using the Q branch Navy version. It was embroidered with tiny anchors. Each of them could be useful in an emergency. He crouched beside the steel pillar and adjusted his pack. It was a dusty brown camo bag with a Q pack inside. He liked to be prepared in most situations.

He didn't particularly like Trams, too many bad memories. He wasn't Richard Burton, who'd apparently ridden to Schloss Adler atop a Tram. He would need all the luck he could find.

He shielded his Ronson lighter and puffed on the specially made Morland cigarette. He grabbed the pillar and stood facing away from the lower station. The sky in the east was just starting to lighten. At 6:30 the sun would rise.

…..

Thirty-six hours earlier he would have never imagined himself here. He'd been at the baggage carousel at the Albuquerque Airport. Awaiting his bag, for the connecting flight to Washington. He had been supposed to have a meeting with NSA liason officer outside the pentagon.

When suddenly, a familiar voice spoke to him from the group surrounding the carrousel, "Guten Tag, Mister Bond." He'd missed seeing the woman as she stood behind a large man.

"Sara? Sara Goldberg? Why, I haven't seen you in years." He immediately checked the nearby passengers to see if anyone was paying particular attention to them. The woman he'd addressed approached him smoothly and wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulder.

"Just walk with me James!" her voice seemed tense. He picked up his bags, and followed her away from the carousel. "What are you doing here?" she asked quietly.

"Just passing through, Sara, on my way to Washington. What is the Mossad's loveliest agent doing in the middle of the American West? Or! Aren't you allowed to say?"

"Busman's holiday James. I am following an al-Qaida suspect on my leave. He's that fellow with the clergyman's collar." She'd said. Bond looked in the window reflection in the airport bar and saw three men leaving the baggage claim area. "I'm trying to find proof that he's actually Muslim instead of Mormon. But I've only got two days left before I'm to report to New York." She claimed. "He came here with the long haired fellow and met the tall man with the beret on the flight from Quebec."

"So how on earth are you going to prove that he's Muslim?" Bond asked.

"Well, every morning that he's been here, he goes to Sandia Peak, and disappears for several minutes. I've been trying to see if he's performing his morning prayers. That native fellow stopped me this morning from getting near the edge of the overlook, so I'm thinking that he's over there somewhere. If he is then that will prove to me that he's Muslim and confirm my other information that he is actually Algerian and not American. Even though, he could still practice his prayers if he claimed to be Muslim, he claims to be a Mormon member of Brigham Young University.

Apparently his credentials with the energy department at BYU are excellent. I have trailed him from the Sudan. He changed into that getup in London. Then flew to Cleveland, then here. He's made two trips to Sandia Labs in the last week. But I couldn't get in to see anybody without help from Telaviv. Now, it's my vacation, do you have to run off to Washington right away or…?" she smiled.

…….

The La Quinta Inn is a whitewashed stucco building housing some of Albuquerque's finest rooms. With over one hundred quiet, comfortable and spacious rooms, including enhanced lighting, data port communications via an internet server, and a plethora of entertainment options. Brightly lit tile baths with sunken whirlpool tubs. Ergonomic and rich wooden furniture and king sized beds with handmade Native American blankets and quilts.

Bond had been anticipating the First Light Breakfast but was disheartened to find that eggs were no longer served. He would have to settle for fresh fruit and coffee. He rolled over lightly and discovered that Sara had fallen into a deep sleep. He caressed her dark bangs and decided that the third time would not be the charm. He slipped out of the bed and retrieved the Walther PPK out from under his pillow and replaced it in his Berns-Martin Holster along the beltline of his Bill's Khaki's.

He padded quietly to the bath, instinctively checking the sitting room before going in for his shower. He dropped naked onto the white Corian tile and did his morning exercises until his stomach and arms ached. He could feel the slight perspiration gather at his joints as he rose above the glistening floor. After satisfying himself that was prepared for the day, he proceeded to jump into a steaming shower.

……

Down on the first floor of the La Quinta the night security man returned from the toilet, rubbing his freshly washed hands together in anticipation of the next chapter in the John Grisham novel. His attention was pulled away from his book by the green diode signaling that motion had been recorded in one of the upper hallways. Someone had left their room; he liked to log these for the house detective in the event it was a strawberry leaving a guest's room with perhaps more than her tip.

He rewound the digital recording after booting up another recorder and started to watch. The first thing he noticed was that this was not a strawberry, but a man. He had appeared in the hallway from the emergency stairs about ten feet from the room that he stopped at. He must be a burglar, a second story man, or worse, an enraged husband/boyfriend. The guard watched the man, and then triggered the silent alarm to the Albuquerque police.

The man had used a nullifier to gain entry to the room. A nullifier cycled the power on a door lock causing it to unlock. It had been too quick and too localized for the power fail equipment to alarm anyone. The other reason that the guard triggered the alarm was that there was, according to the guest log, an Isreali diplomat in the room. He certainly didn't want any international incidents, like a theft at the Inn. He also noticed a large case the man had been carrying.

……

Pablo smiled to himself. Another roundeye bites the dust, as his Apache ancestors would say. The venom had worked excellently. The Jew whore was catatonic but quite cognizant. She would see and feel everything that happened to her. The shower still ran in the bath, but he would be done and gone before anyone came from there. He opened his case, plugged in the chainsaw and began to work.

……

James Bond finished his frigid shower and began to towel himself. He could hear an electric hairdryer in the bedroom and smiled to himself. Maybe the third time would be the charm. He finished drying his feet and wrapped the towel around his waist.

He opened the door to the bedroom and was struck with such surreal horror that he could not move for nearly two heartbeats. Sara lay upon the bed, her arms and legs severed at the major bones. Another cut from the chainsaw had split her torso vertically until it had ripped through her heart.

The large native, whom Bond recognized from the airport last night, chose that moment to turn off the chainsaw, and by the time he realized that the shower wasn't running and turned toward the bath, Bond was almost upon him.

The man was caught completely by surprise. If he had not been, he would have easily killed a naked Bond. He used his hands, his chainsaw, and the electric cord from his chainsaw to attack Bond. He clawed at Bond's chest mercilessly, ripping flesh, and tearing skin. Bond could not get a grip on the man because of the slippery blood on the plastic butcher's apron he wore. But that also worked against Pablo as it tremendously reduced his movement. Eventually, Bond had wrapped the wet towel from his waist around the man's neck and had thrown him over his shoulder in a classic Judo throw that simply snapped the murderer's neck. Just at that moment the local police barged in.

……

"Well, Mister Bond, it appears that your story checks out!" said the Albuquerque detective, "Although your boss was extremely upset that you were involved in this business, Univex doesn't like any bad publicity you know! It seems that this was a serial killing. This Apache, Pablo, was an enforcer during his youth for the Palomas Hispanic gang that smuggles aliens from Mexico. He's been in prison a few times, but we've never been able to pin any of these chainsaw murders, six of them, on him. You wouldn't happen to know why he picked Ms. Goldberg, would you."

Bond shook his head, he knew his Tony Hillerman, and he knew that these New Mexico Tribal Police were a lot smarter than they acted. He addressed the Police lieutenant "Please let the Isreali consolate in New York know about this terrible misfortune. Miss Goldberg was a very important person."

"That doesn't answer my question. I'll contact the consolate. Why do you think that she didn't fight him?" the detective asked.

Bond looked at him to see if he was being tested. He thought that he was, so he answered, "Well, actually I think that spray bottle that your investigator found probably has something to do with it. It wasn't here before. What do you think happened?"

The detective smiled, accepting the truth of the matter, that this Bond was actually a police official of some kind. He then grimaced and said, "It seems to be a form or mixture of snake venom, and it is used by the tribal shamans as a medicine. But, this is the first time I've ever witnessed its use for murder. Knowing that Pablo was the murderer and how he did it, answers several questions for us. You are probably free to go, but don't leave town until the inquest is over."

That had been yesterday morning. Bond ate at the La Quanta's restaurant. He made a call to Sandier Labs and arranged a three o'clock meeting.

………

Sandier National Laboratories began in 1945 on Sandier Base in Albuquerque as Z Division, part of what's now Los Alamos National Lab (LANL). Both labs were born out of America's World War II atomic bomb development effort — the Manhattan Project.

Sandier came into being as an ordnance design, testing, and assembly facility, and was located on Sandier Base to be close to an airfield and work closely with the military. In 1949, President Harry Truman wrote a letter to American Telephone and Telegraph Company President Leroy Wilson, offering the company "an opportunity to render an exceptional service in the national interest" by managing Sandier. AT&T accepted, began managing the Labs on Nov. 1, 1949, and continued in that role for nearly 44 years.

The Labs' original mission — providing engineering design for all non-nuclear components of the nation's nuclear weapons — continues today, but Sandier now also performs a wide variety of national security R&D work. As a Department of Energy national laboratory, Sandier works in partnership with universities and industry to enhance the security, prosperity, and well-being of the nation. They provide scientific and engineering solutions to meet national needs in nuclear weapons and related defense systems, energy security, and environmental integrity, and to address emerging national challenges for both government and industry.

On Oct. 1, 1993, the Department of Energy awarded the Sandier management contract to the Martin Marietta Corp., now Lockheed Martin. Today, Sandier has two primary facilities, a large laboratory and headquarters in Albuquerque (more than 6,600 employees) and a smaller laboratory in Livermore, California (about 850 employees).

Bomb-disablement experts at Sandia National Laboratories share the latest in bomb-disablement tools and approaches with regional bomb squads in five-day, hands-on training conferences. Operation America, as the events are called, focuses on the science of explosives and the advanced technologies and methodologies necessary to protect the public from the increasingly sophisticated and dangerous explosive devices being fielded by today's terrorists and criminals.

Sandier hosted its first bomb-squad training conference in Albuquerque, in 1994 to put emerging bomb-disablement technologies into the arsenals of the world's busiest bomb squads, primarily those of local and state governments, the U.S. military, federal law enforcement agencies, and select foreign government antiterrorism organizations. The workshops include classroom instruction and range demonstrations of advanced disablement strategies, vehicle bombs, and other issues associated with current terrorist-type threats. James Bond had excelled during his weeks training here in year 2000. His appointment was with George Peach the director of training.

"Good to see you James," said George.

"Thank you Captain Peach, I've come with some serious business. I need a referral to your university liaison officer." 007 said.

"Oh, that would be Mr. Conroy, I'll walk you over. So how's your boss, still fit is she?" Peach asked.

"Yes, fit enough to trim the admiralty every once and a while," claimed Bond.

"Tom? Are you busy? Good! I'd like you to meet one of our very good graduates. He's got some business for you. Tom Conroy, This is.' said Peach.

"Bond, James Bond. Good of you to see me." Said Bond.

"Glad to meet you Mr. Bond, what can I do for you?" Captain Peach and Bond sat down across the desk from Mr. Conroy.

"It's about Reverend Smith. I'm inquiring about your discussions with him. What can you tell me about that?" asked Bond.

"Well, He's here as a representative of the energy department of Brigham Young University. He's here in regards to GE's project Jobe. That's a long-term study that GE is conducting on their Toxic Waste Storage Facilities. He's here to arrange for the transfer of the waste from GE to BYU.' Tom said.

"How does that involve Sandia?" asked Bond.

"Well, it's nuclear fuel pellets. Sandia is tasked with liaison between the supplier, in this case General Electric and the University. We've got ten shipments approved for shipment to BYU labs across the United States. There are 100 pellets per, enclosed in glass bubbles to prevent any contact between the pellets. They are inside a lead lined casket. With a lead cement lining and seawater filling. The pellets are then removed at the University labs with robotic arms and used for their studies. Normally these would go straight to the mines, except for the project. Why?" asked Conroy?

"Well, for the very reason that Reverend Smith may and I stress the word MAY be a terrorist. When you say toxic waste, you mean like oil spills or something like that?" Asked Bond.

"No! Mr. Bond, I don't mean an oil spill or anything like that, although we do have to cleanup many saltwater spills. I'm talking about "Chernobyl" type lethal material. If a man stood unprotected near one of these pellets for one hour, he would die of bone cancer within a year, with near zero survivability. Radiation sickness within 4 hours, and if a man was exposed for 24 hours, he'd be dead.

If Reverend Smith is a terrorist, we shouldn't let him near any of this stuff. But, he's just the Energy guy. He won't get any where near these pellets. He's just arranging for the payment and transportation. In fact, GE handles everything else. The only input he's had on this process is the destination list, and we verified the list from BYU Energy separately." Said Tom.

"Can I see the List?" Asked Bond.

"Not without the proper authorization from the Atomic Energy Commission." Said Conroy.

"Okay, could you do me a favor and check the addresses, separately from BYU." Asked Bond.

"Sure! Hang on! I'll check MapQuest. Let's see. North Platte. Hmm! That's odd! George could you ask Bill to come in here please?" Tom said. The tall man stepped out of the room and came back with a plumpish man in a gray suit. "Bill, this is Mr. Bond, he'd like to discuss a TW destination list with me, Could you approve that rather quickly please?"

"Mr. Bond do you have any Identification?" asked Bill. "Oh! Yes, That will do, can you tell me today's Nato Security Level Three Password?"

Bond said "It's raining in Rome?"

Bill said, "It's okay Tom, he's cleared above you. Hell, Mr. Bond, your cleared above me."

"Thank you Bill." Bond said.

"Right, well sorry for the procedure James, but these days we have to do it." Explained Tom. "Let's go to the Conference Room, Bill can you ask Stan to join us?"

"San Fernando, California, No listing for that address. Kennewick, Washington, No listing for address. New Baltimore, New York, is a suburb of Albany, No listing for that address. Brunswick, Maryland, No Listing for that Address. Detroit, Michigan, No Listing for that address. Shallows, Michigan, that's on the Northern Peninsula, No listing for that address. Detroit, Michigan, That comes up as a parking lot. Aliquippa, Pennsylvania, No listing. What the hell is going on Mr. Bond?"

"Well apparently your ten shipments are being rerouted, or set up to be hijacked. But they could do that anywhere. What if they are going to blow up your delivery trucks?" asked Bond.

"What the hell would they do that for?" asked Tom.

"There terrorists, you can't figure that out." Said George Peach.

"Oh! Yes we can!" spoke the newcomer to the group Stan Hootman. "I'm with threat analysis, I'm going to say that they are either going to blow up the trucks and pollute the general area for several miles, or they are going to hijack them. But we need to get Phil Lancer in here."

"Can you put that third map back up on the screen, Tom?" asked Bond. "What if they dumped the toxic waste into the river? That's the Potomac River isn't?"

"Yes!" said Stan. "It is! Phil, I'm in Conference room 203. Can you join us, we need you?"

The four men waited patiently for the two minutes that it required for Phil Lancer to arrive at the conference room. Then, Tom Conroy explained the situation to him. Ending with "Phil can you answer James' question about dumping the waste into the river?"

Phil Lancer shook visibly, "Well, excuse me, this is real isn't it. Not a drill."

"No Phil this isn't an exercise. This is a real analysis. What can you tell us?" asked Stan.

Phil calmed himself and proceeded. "Well, number one, if they blow up the trucks, they will probably pollute a ten square mile area with radioactive fallout. In the locations you've shown me. Probably about 2000 fatalities and 12000 cases of cancer. If they hijacked them and transported them all to the same place, they could probably have enough to build a bomb, but we'd be able to track the trucks. The worst case scenario would involve stealing the caskets and pouring them into the river."

"Why is that?" asked Bill.

"Well, because the saltwater that the pellets are stored in would pollute the river water downstream! Isn't that right Phil?" asked Tom.

"Yes, that's true, but that wouldn't be the big problem, the big problem would be the eradiating of the waterways. You see the reason that the pellets are encased in glass and floated in saltwater is to keep them from attaining any significant mass at all, but each and every one is deadly, and worst of all they are buoyant, they float. So they'll just float down the river to the sea, eradiating the entire river for the next 100 years. Also this particular time of year is dangerous because there is a lot of flooding going on. So all those floodplains will be polluted as well as the water sources for the various cities downriver." Said Phil.

Now Tom began to shake. "You mean that? That's Los Angeles, Portland, Pittsburgh, Albany, downriver that's Washington and New York. Not to mention the great lakes and the Mississippi. God help us."

Phil answered dryly, "Those cities would be radioactive wastelands, and the United States wouldn't have any fresh water unless you caught it in a rain barrel."

The meeting had broken up rather quickly after that as Tom rushed to cancel the arrangements for the transfers. He'd asked Bill how to handle the phone call from Reverend Smith when he called tomorrow. Bill had said to answer that there was a problem with the list and could the Reverend please show up at the office to clarify an arrangement. Bond didn't think the good reverend would ever show his face around New Mexico, once the list was questioned. But he'd had an idea where he could find him.

…..

That had been yesterday afternoon. As the Tram approached the top station at 10,300 feet, Bond looked to the west to look at the 11,000 square mile panoramic view of New Mexico, above canyons and lush forests. Many of Albuquerque's streetlights still shone. The Tram came to a stop and Bond scampered up the metal coil and onto the roof of the station. There were two other large buildings as well as a few small ones up here.

The largest building looked familiar to him. It was the High Finance Restaurant and Tavern. It offered the chance to enjoy both the breathtaking beauty of the Land of Enchantment and top-notch cuisine. Almost 2.7 miles above the Cibola National Forest, the High Finance Restaurant would satisfy your appetite in a variety of ways. Slow roasted Prime Rib or skillet roasted Ahi Tuna are both culinary delights, as well as the crowd-pleasing, flame searing Beef Flambé. You could enjoy one of the award winning handcrafted microbrewed ales, or sip the essence from any of the flavorful wines from an extensive and quality selection. Bond was currently most interested in the fact that the restaurant served Omelets.

Bond looked up at the eastern sky. What had appeared to be small white clouds from Albuquerque were in fact, dark gray near the mountaintop and whiter thousands of feet higher. Dawn was approaching. Avoiding anyone who might be up here, like the restaurant staff, Tram Tech's, or Park Rangers, he quickly reached the north slope of the ridge and found a convenient pine tree. Fashioning an anchor rope, he lowered himself over the side of the cliff. Nine hundred feet below the massive boulders were barely visible. One slip and he would be crushed on the rocks below. Unless, of course, he pulled the ripcord quickly on the Q pack. Even then, he would suffer broken bones of some kind.

He swung on the cord and looked around the outcropping of rock that shielded him from the Overlook platform. There it was, a much smaller platform, more like a ledge, for the strong of heart to peer down the mountain, there was a gated access. A black iron stair and platform reminiscent of someone's fire escape, led downward. This is where the 'Reverend' Smith had been coming this week and Bond would find out why.

……..

Azziz stood next to Rene. The Canadian stunk so badly that Azziz could barely breath. Oh the things I do for Allah, he thought. The third man in the car with them stood in the center of the car grasping the handrail and squinching his eyes tightly shut. Azziz spoke "Relax Riker, there is nothing you can do about this situation, you are in Allah's hands. Release yourself to him, and pray for your courage." Azziz said to Rene, "Do you think the clouds will come in today? I don't want to miss sunrise."

Rene looked upward and sighed, "I don't know, I wish we knew what happened to Pablo."

"Pablo is a man of his word, he will contact us next week from Palomas to give us the details of his task. The Jewess had to be silenced. After my phone call today, we shall leave this operation to the separate cells to complete. We shall all meet in Alexandria next Friday. By that time the United States will be finished. InshAllah, er God willing." said Azziz. "Ah, We are here!"

The three men were startled as they emerged from the car by a youngish voice calling "Heads up!" A tram technician, a short lanky man climbed down the side of the car and lowered the long package to the Tram's gantry. It resembled a furled sail all bound together.

Azziz glanced at the seething Riker,"Relax, it is only the glider again. Get your bearings! Right over there is solid ground."

"Yes! You're right Reverend! Sorry." Quavered the bald headed man. The swastika's on his earlobes stopped their shaking as he set foot on the mountain. They glanced both left and right, and then turned left toward the overlook. The overlook was a wooden structure likened to a patio deck. People could go right up to edge and peer down at the jagged rocks 900 feet below. A light wind was blowing from the north and it appeared that a cloud may close on the mountaintop before too long.

"Hurry, the sun is almost up." Said Azziz. He climbed over the small chain link fence and proceeded down the iron staircase. At the bottom, nearly fifteen feet below the overlook, he placed his prayer rug and knelt upon it facing Mecca. Then began his morning prayers.

A few seconds later, a cloud enveloped the mountain. The visibility was reduced to 10 feet and a brutal snow began flying through the air. James Bond realized that this was the moment for action. The two thugs were near blind and Reverend Smith was praying to Allah. He quickly climbed the rope and started across the clifftop.

The first person that he ran into was the tall man from Quebec. Bond attacked him and quickly learned that the man fancied himself a savat master or maybe even Jujitsu. Bond noticed that he tried to empress Bond with his fighting style. Bond thought that the man kicked very hard, but he'd seen the Matrix to many times. He was able to grasp the man's foot at one crucial point and use the man's own weight to perform a Judo throw. The man would have easily survived, except that the throw was over the side of the overlook. He screamed when he cleared the cloud, about 100 feet down. His scream lasted about three seconds before his life was extinguished.

As Bond peered over the side, he could see that the Reverend was deep in prayer. He started to make his way to the chain fence, when the bald headed man jumped from his right and nearly knocked Bond over to the side. The man fought mercilessly, and at one point, had used Bond's backpack to drag him to the side rail. Bond barely had gotten out of the straps in time. He watched his Q pack parachute sail out of sight in the mist. Then was able to push away from the railing.

He drove the man across the overlook to the chain link fence and propelled him into the steel cross member. The man gasped, and went for Bond's throat. At that moment the cross member gave way and Bond and the man pitched out over empty space. Bond had hold of the steel and the man was hanging on to Bond's shoulder and arm. "Don't look down!" Bond said. The man couldn't stop himself, the cloud moved further southward at that moment, and he looked down, the steel protested with a sharp noise and the man let go of Bond. Four seconds later he was a bright red stain on a rock below.

Bond edged his way back to solid ground and crawled as quietly as he could over the fence at the stairway. "You! You were at the airport!" said Reverend Smith. "Where is Rene? Where is Riker?" he asked.

"They've gone to meet Allah, Reverend, all the shipment of the pellets has been cancelled. You've failed in your little scheme." Said Bond.

The Reverend Smith pulled a knife from a concealed pocket of his jacket and told Bond to move out of his way. Bond backed up the stair case, and the Reverend walked closer to it. Bond chose his timing carefully, then leaped on to Smith. Smith was startled and quickly lost his balance. He tried to run past Bond and received a thorough bump which sent him over the iron railing. The knife fell away clattering against the rocks below. Smith called "Help me, Damn you, Help me." His fingers grasped the iron railing as tightly as possible.

Bond reached down and retrieved the prayer rug from the platform. He walked to the railing. He looked into Smith's eyes and said "InshAllah!". Then he threw the rug over the railing. Smith didn't even hesitate, he reached for the rug and lost his grip. He actually caught the rug before he became a stain on the rocks.

After he'd gotten back on the overlook, Bond straightened his tie and walked over to the restaurant. A few minutes later, he realized that the same detective that he'd spoken to yesterday was walking up the path toward the overlook with a Park ranger. He finished his coffee, a brazillian roast, and paid the cashier in cash. Then went south toward the Tram station.

He passed an Albuquerque patrolman standing outside the top station and then saw the glider, he'd prepared as backup. He unsnapped the wings and fashioned the cross brace into position. He snapped on the helmet and checked the patrolman again. The uniformed man was looking down the mountainside, presumably at the bloodstains on the rocks below.

He pushed off the clifftop and plunged down the mountainside until the wings caught hold and he began to lift into the sky. The detective from Albuquerque looked up at the hangglider and said, "Well, at least that guy brought his wings, I figure this is suicide pact or something. Let's get them cleaned off the rock before the tourists arrive."


End file.
